


Scant Comfort

by mystiri1



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yohji finds out some disturbing news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scant Comfort

Yohji rolled over and peered at the glowing lights of his alarm clock with bleary eyes. Not quite 9am. He wasn’t expected down in the flower shop for hours yet – the others having long since given into the futility of scheduling him on for early shifts – but he was awake, he wasn’t hung over, and as a result, he was damned hungry. After a few minutes of staring at the numbers while they blinked and changed, he decided to give in to the urgings of his stomach.

He grabbed up a pair of jeans that were draped across the back of a chair, and pulled them on. It was possible there was still some coffee hot and already brewed, so he headed for the kitchen without any further delay.

These ‘early’ mornings had become something of a habit lately. It had been over a month since his last real hangover and he was discovering that when he didn’t have a headache that made his eyes water and the urge to throw up at the slightest mention of food, he was definitely a breakfast person. And as Yohji had never been known to deny any of his appetites, it necessitated actually getting out of bed.

Ken had made a few bitchy remarks just last week about their food bill going up, but that didn’t bother Yohji at all. He was spending less money going out and getting drunk these days, so it wasn’t any hardship to chip in a few extra yen towards the groceries. As for Ken and bitchy remarks, well, that was just Ken. He’d been tempted to tell the dark-haired boy that it was all Aya’s fault. In a way it was, and he wondered if the soccer player would have the courage to bitch at Aya.

Aya, Yohji knew, would have been up for hours already. Aya was actually a morning person. Or possibly just an insomniac. Sleep deprivation would certainly explain a lot about the touchy redhead.

Thinking about Aya made his lips curve, even as he took in the fact that there was barely half a cup left in the coffee pot. He poured it into a mug, and downed it straight away, then set to making a new pot.

Aya was the reason Yohji was getting up earlier these days, although he’d kill himself before keeping the same ungodly hours his sometime-lover did.

Aya had fascinated Yohji from the day he arrived. Yes, he was cold; borderline hostile at times. And he didn’t think like normal people. That first conversation, when he’d asked his name, had assured Yohji of that. And for all his icy calmness, Aya had a fierce rage that burned inside him, something that spilled out into barely-controlled violence with little provocation. The other man was dangerous, and it drew Yohji like a moth to a flame – with the same potential consequences.

What surprised him was to realise that on those rare occasions when Aya talked about anything, it was more likely to be to him than Ken or Omi. Ken, he guessed he could understand. The welcome the soccer player had given the redhead was considerably less than friendly. Aya had watched the younger boy for about a week, then made it clear in no uncertain terms that there would be no repeat of the experience if Ken wanted to live. That little incident had everybody walking carefully around him for months afterward. But Omi was cute, and friendly, and people wanted to talk to the chibi. Unless they were Aya.

Aya didn’t approve of Yohji’s lifestyle – hardly anyone did – but in the end, Yohji decided it was because they had more in common with each other than their younger counterparts. The other two still retained a touch of innocence, slight as it was. Omi had school, and Ken had soccer, both of them holding on to a little slice of normality in the madness that was Weiss, while Yohji just had booze, and Aya had... nothing.

Aya could be coldly logical about missions, planning with an exacting ruthlessness that assured the target’s demise, but his normal thought processes were twistier than a corkscrew. Those conversations, brief as they usually were, confirmed this, and just left him craving more.

Yohji had always liked puzzles.

And then he’d been offered a closer glimpse of the massive contradiction that was Aya.

It had been nearly six months now. A fairly busy six months, at that. They’d come home from a particularly messy mission, one where Yohji had picked up a nasty slice along his upper arm. Omi was taking care of Ken, whose close combat style often left him with more injuries than the others, and that left Aya to patch Yohji’s wounds.

The redhead didn’t fit anybody’s picture of a nurse still dressed in his mission gear, applying gauze and tape with a focus that suggested the wound had better cooperate and get better fast, or mayhem would happen. He did look sexy, though, something that had Yohji already planning what bars he’d hit the following night, as it was already too late to go out.

He’d finished, and stood up, hesitating a brief moment before picking up his katana. Yohji had looked up at him, and stared.

Aya was wearing that odd, blank look he got after a mission. He looked completely impassive, emotionless. The only sign of agitation was the way his hand clenched and relaxed about the hilt of his sword.

Yohij knew what a mission could do to him. The aggression and adrenaline, the edge of fear that ramped both up further as he risked his own life to take out his targets. That potent rush lingered long after the killing was done. And as it subsided a new conflict was left in its place: the guilt and shame of committing murder against a lack of remorse over who had been killed.

He dealt with it by going out and getting drunk. Getting laid. Losing himself in the vices for which everybody criticised him until he felt human again: flawed and fallible, but alive. Because his biggest fear was that one day, he would feel no guilt at all.

Looking at Aya with that blank face and those empty eyes, knuckles whiter than usual, he realised that Aya felt something like that too. Something violent and destructive and despairing. And the only outlet he had, the only target the redhead found for his aggression was... himself.

Anyone else looking at Aya would have seen someone proud and cold and dangerous. Yohji thought he just looked lost.

His lips curved slightly as he thought how much prickly, prideful Aya would hate to hear that, and those pale violet eyes snapped downwards, fixed on his mouth. Something changed, and they didn’t look empty anymore.

Even now, he couldn’t figure out which of them had moved first.

It didn’t really matter. He’d suddenly had Aya in his arms, and then his bed, and the redhead was far from cold. It was the last thing Yohji had ever expected, but he wasn’t about to complain. It had been wild, and urgent, and more than a little violent in its own way. It had also been the hottest sex he’d had in a long time.

They’d fucked for hours, Yohji getting the chance to explore that strong, lean body quite thoroughly. When they’d stopped, it was because it had been time for Aya to get up.

He still remembered that argument.

If he’d thought that getting laid was somehow going to change Aya, he was wrong. He’d suggested leaving the shop alone, staying in bed and getting some sleep, like normal people. Hot, sexy Aya turned into Aya in deep-freeze mode, informing Yohji coldly that just because he didn’t take his responsibilities seriously, didn’t mean Aya was going to do the same.

Yohji simply stared as the redhead yanked on his pants, scooped up the rest of his clothing, and stormed out, unable to decide whether to curse, laugh, or drag him back to bed. In the end, he settled for rolling over and going to sleep.

The odd thing was that Yohji had changed.

He’d felt no need to go out the following night. That horrible feeling of being uncomfortable in his own skin, of needing to do something, anything, wasn’t there.

Without either of them ever saying anything, it had become almost routine. They’d go on a mission, and afterwards, they’d fuck. Sometimes just once, a quick release, sometimes all night. Always in Yohji’s room – he’d fallen asleep more than once, and woken up to find Aya gone, uncertain as to whether the other man had left immediately or actually stayed until it was time for him to get up and go to work.

Yohji still went out. He was too social to stay at home all the time; he liked the atmosphere, and the people, and the dancing, and yes, the alcohol. But he didn’t feel the need to do it so often, or to drink himself into oblivion. He’d even stopped putting any effort into picking up strangers for a little meaningless sex. They’d never said anything about exclusivity, but Aya had a fastidious streak, and Yohji just didn’t feel right about it. Besides, their missions had increased in frequency, so he was still getting laid on a regular basis.

It as ironic, Yohji thought as he made himself some eggs and toast, that he should be the one to change because of a relationship. He wasn’t even sure he could call it that, really. But he was supposed to be the playboy, the charming one, and Aya was the Ice Prince, as he’d heard Ken phrase it once. Aya sure as hell hadn’t thawed anywhere but in bed, and any other changes were small enough to go unnoticed. Sure, Aya was a little more likely to talk to him these days, but not by much. They were each other’s preferred back-up on a mission, but that had been true before.

No, Aya hadn’t changed, he thought with a sigh, sliding the eggs onto a plate and grabbing another cup of coffee, while Yohji was changing the habits of the past few years. No point in getting upset about it, though. Aya was Aya, and that was what made him so damned attractive to Yohji. Proud, and beautiful, and sexy, and dangerous. Confusing as hell, and his own worst enemy.

Some previously undiscovered masochistic streak must have been why Yohji was smiling.

He bit into a piece of toast, and dragged the paper closer. He skimmed the headlines, then flicked it over to the last few pages. There’d been a mission the night before last, and the death notice should be appearing in the paper today. Yohji wondered if they could find anything nice to say about the bastard. It had certainly been a job well done.

He found the obituaries, and began to scan the column when a name he wasn’t expecting caught his eye.

 

* * * * *

 

It was late afternoon when Yohji returned. He went to go straight upstairs to his room, then some small urge prompted him to head for the store instead.

He should probably offer Aya some kind of explanation for ducking out on his shift, after all. It was probably the redhead, with his too-responsible streak, who covered for him. In fact, when Yohji had shown up in the shop this morning long enough to say, "I can't work today, got something important to take care of," Aya had just blinked at him, then nodded. It had been Ken whose bitching followed him out the shop and down the hallway.

Which is why it surprised him to find Ken minding the shop. Alone.

"There you are, Kudoh. I hope you enjoyed your day spent carousing and picking up women, while _some_ of us have been working." The words had a snide edge that was considerably sharper than usual. "What was so important? Did you suddenly realise you'd run out of alcohol?"

Yohji's hand tightened reflexively on the neck of the bottle he'd bought on the way home, even though he was quite sure Ken couldn't see it from that angle. "It's really none of your business. You're just pissy because my not being here means you couldn't run off to play soccer," he retorted. It wasn't like Ken hadn't skipped out on his share of shifts before. "Where's Aya?"

"On a mission. Manx dropped by with an urgent one - something about not missing an opportunity. You weren't here, so he had to take Omi for back-up."

Yohji felt a mixed twinge of guilt and anger. He should have been here to back Aya up - but Omi was a better choice for it than Ken, whose style of fighting was also close combat. The chibi would do a good job, he was sure.

Meanwhile, Ken was still bitching. "I had to watch the shop all by myself, and for what? So you could get laid?"

That was enough. "Shut the fuck up, Hidaka," Yohji snarled, and left.

He swung by the kitchen long enough to grab a glass - he was not going to drink from the damned bottle like some down-on-his-luck wino - then took the stairs two at a time, still fuelled by anger. He got on with Ken well enough most of the time, but damned if the younger man couldn't be worse than a roomful of women with PMS when he got in a mood. And Yohji was in no mood to put up with it.

The door shut with a slam behind him, and he took a deep breath before crossing to his bedside table and placing glass and bottle down on it with deliberate care. He shrugged out fo the suit jacket and tossed it at a nearby chair. It was one of the most formal jackets he owned, an expensive, tailored cut that made him look professional as well as sexy, but he just didn't care. Shoes and socks were tugged off, his tie loosened, and then he flopped down on the bed.

Today had been... Hell. The memorial service had left him feeling depressed and frustrated and helpless, but he'd needed to go once he read the death notice. He'd needed to know what had gone so wrong. And then finding out Aya had gone on a mission with Omi for backup - he felt like he'd somehow let the other assassin down, although that was silly. Sure they were a good team, but Omi was perfectly capable of watching his back, and handling any potential trouble. If the mission had been really dangerous, it would never have been thrown together on the fly like this, and the whole team would have gone.

He sat up against the pillows, and reached for the bottle. It was whiskey, and not particularly good whiskey at that, but he'd chosen it for his alcohol content, not its quality. He wasn't the alcoholic Ken had so snidely implied, but dammit, he needed a drink right now. He needed the comfortable numbness large amounts of alcohol could supply.

Maybe he should have bought two bottles.

He splashed a goodly amount into the glass and tossed it back, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. Immediately refilling it, he placed the bottle back on the stand, and took his time with this one. He was onto his fourth when the door swung open, and Aya stalked in.

Anybody would have stared at such an image, Yohji thought as he took in the sight of his lover, face expressionless except for that cold, dangerous edge his eyes held, the promise of violence inherent in his gaze amplified by the clothes he wore, and the blade still held in his hand. Yohji wondered if now Aya was going to complain about his taking the day off for undisclosed reasons, but instead, the redhead leaned his katana against the wall, and began to strip off the long coat he wore.

Yohji blinked as the tight-fitting top followed, and realisation slowly dawned as to why he was here. Aya. Mission. _Oh_.

"Uh, Aya?"

Aya's response was to remove his boots.

"Look, it's nothing personal, but -" That at least had Aya looking at him, the redhead's hands busy with the opening to his pants. That top button, Yohji knew from experience, was really stubborn. "I'm just not in the mood today, okay?"

Aya's hands stilled, and he gave Yohji a look of total incomprehension.

"Sex, I mean. It's been a rough day, and I'm not in the mood."

Incomprehension turned to a kind of scornful disbelief. "Kudoh, you're always in the mood for sex." Aya looked at the glass Yohji held, then at the bottle on the nightstand. "I know Ken thinks you spent the day out drinking or something, but I didn't really think you'd blow off work for that, and that's not the kind of outfit you wear to bars, anyway . . ."

Yohji realised what Aya was thinking. "It's not _that_! And even when I have had a lot to drink I can still get it up!" he snapped. "I've never had any problems in that department!"

"Then I don't understand what the problem is. I was under the impression you enjoyed having sex with me." A small crease formed between Aya's brows, and Yohji saw one hand tense as if closing on a hilt that wasn't there. Both were, he'd learnt, warning signs. Aya didn't handle uncertainty well, and his way of dealing with any emotions that made him uncomfortable was to reach for the one emotion he completely understood.

Why had it not occurred to him before he opened his stupid mouth that one of those things Aya wouldn't handle well was rejection?

Unfortunately, Yohji was feeling more than a little pissed off himself, so he had little patience for dancing around Aya's little foibles. "I do enjoy sex with you, just not today."

"Because you didn't go on the mission?"

"Because right now I feel angry and frustrated and depressed and I don't feel like -" Yohji caught himself before he finished yelling the rest of what he was thinking._ Because I don't feel like dealing with all of your fucking problems on top of everything else!_

It was true. More accurately, it was true that he didn't feel like dealing with Aya, complicated, fucked-up, confusing Aya, right now. But that wasn't a distinction that he thought the redhead would make, and he wasn't sure whether he was more worried the swordsman would gut him for saying it, or just leave and not come back.

Yohji sighed, and looked away. Aya was complicated, fucked-up and confusing, and that was one of the things Yohji liked about him, but right now he lacked the emotional energy to walk through that particular minefield. And dammit, why should always be the one who had to tread carefully, anyway?

The next words out of Aya's mouth completely stunned him.

"Do you..." Aya hesitated as Yohji turned towards him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Yohji didn't know whether to laugh or just shake his head despairingly over the fact that, even as he made the offer, violet eyes were glancing longingly towards the door.

He sighed again, a defeated sound. "No," he said tiredly. "I don't want to talk about it."

Aya looked relieved.

Yohji stared at him a moment longer. Aya stood there, feet and chest bare, pants half undone, ready and willing to have sex, and totally uninterested in anything deeper. What the hell was wrong with him?

Maybe some hot mindless sex was just what he needed, as the alcohol wasn't helping.

"Aya." Yohji's voice took on a deeper note. "Take them off."

Aya blinked at him, and some of the tension in his stance disappeared as he slid the pants all the way off. "You're in the mood now?" he asked, as if to be sure.

"Yes," Yohji hissed, drinking in the sight of his lover naked, and coming towards him. He was always a little surprised by how broad Aya's shoulders really were under his clothes, the result of swinging a sword about, he supposed. He'd never be some over-muscled bodybuilder type, but they were there, defined enough to be seen while only hinting at the actual strength of him. There was something about Aya that made Yohji think of elegance and grace and power, something that made him so well-suited to the feline codenames Kritiker gave them.

And damn, it was sexy.

Aya reached the bed, and leaned over to pluck the empty glass from Yohji's hand, placing it on the nightstand with a decisive clink. He hadn't even realised he still had it.

Hands empty, he reached for his lover.

Aya caught him easily about the wrists, and pressed them over his head as he straddled Yohji's lap. "No," he said firmly. "I'm going to do the touching."

"We can both touch," Yohji pointed out, even as this remark sparked a half dozen really hot fantasies in his head that all involved Aya touching him.

"Hn. No." Aya tugged the loosened tie from his neck, and wrapped it about Yohji's wrists before he could protest. He settled back a bit more firmly against Yohji's erection, squirming so that his ass rubbed against the still-clothed length, then leaned forward to lick at the blond's parted lips. "Unless you want me to stop?"

There was a slight curve to Aya's lips as he moved again, and Yohji moaned as he felt his trapped cock pressing between the curve of the redhead's ass-cheeks, rubbing against the slightly softer weight of his balls. No, his lover knew full well Yohji wouldn't let him stop now.

Of course, he thought as a tug reminded him of the binding about his wrists, there was the question of just who was letting who do anything. "Aya," he breathed, lifting his head to kiss the other man properly.

He felt a thrill of lust as Aya kissed him back, hard, possessive and deep, forcing Yohji's head back to the pillows. A hand grasped his wrists, pushing them down firmly as well in a definite warning. Aya was going to be in charge this time, and that was just fine with Yohji.

Fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and then were sliding over his chest. They found flat nipples, and circled them with teasing movements before grasping now hardened little nubs and tugging. Yohji moaned into Aya's mouth, thinking that he'd really taught him well. Then Aya was moving down his neck, lips closing over his pulse and sucking. Yohji loved to give the redhead lovebites, even if he knew Aya would never let anybody else see them, and the idea that now he was being marked... He resolved to wear low-necked tops for the next few days.

Finally Aya released his throat and moved downward. More buttons were undone, the shirt pushed out of the way but not removed. A hot, eager mouth trailed over his chest and down his stomach, nipping and licking and sucking, while fingers slid back and forth over heated skin.

Yohji's breath came faster as those hands reached his belt, unfastening the catch as Aya's tongue dipped teasingly into his bellybutton. His hips shifted slightly as it was tugged out of its loops, and tossed aside. Anticipation had him whimpering as a hand settled over the hard length of his cock, squeezing lightly through the cloth.

The sound made Aya raise his head to stare at him. His hand flattened, pressing against Yohji's erection and rubbing back and forth in a movement that was almost painful, and damned arousing. His eyes weren't cold now, but fierce and hot, with a distinctly predatory gleam, and a hint of anger. Some of the teasing, Yohji realised, wasn't just about need, but revenge; a punishment of sorts for making Aya wonder. A reminder and reassurance that Yohji _did_ want him.

Yohji closed his eyes and moaned. Hell, Aya could do anything he wanted right now, and he'd beg for more.

"Aya," he pleaded.

"Do you want something, Yohji?" Aya purred.

_"Please."_

Deft fingers made quick work of his fly, lifting his aching cock carefully from the confining fabric, and then that gorgeous red head was lowered once again. Yohji gasped as a hot mouth closed over the tip of his cock, then slid down to engulf more than half its length.

"Aya!" he cried, arching upward in spite of himself. Hands grasped his hips frimly and pinned them against the bed. Yohji whimpered. Aya was more than strong enough to hold him down as his mouth began its work, sliding and sucking and driving him wild. His hands came down, wanting to bury themselves in silky red hair and tug him closer, but he'd barely got them to mid-chest before the tie binding them together reminded him. Reluctantly, he returned them to their resting place above his head, and let Aya do what he wished.

What Aya wished was apparently to drive him crazy. Yohji thought that he was just about to lose it when Aya sat back on his heels, lips reddened and wet with saliva and a hint of pre-come at one corner. His tongue darted out to lick at it, and Yohji whimpered again.

Aya crawled up his body and leaned over to fish about in the top drawer of the nightstand for lube. It placed one nipple within easy reach and Yohji took the opportunity to lick at it. The other man made a startled sound, and sat back up, the tube clutched in one hand. Yohji gave him an innocent look - or at least as much of one as was possible while half naked and bound lying on a bed with a naked man straddling his lap.

Aya's eyes narrowed warningly. "I told you, no touching, didn't I?"

Yohji didn't reply.

After a moment, Aya gave a soft, "Hn," and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto the fingers of one hand. For a few seconds, Yohji wondered if he was finally going to be uke - not that he'd mind - then realised Aya still hadn't done more than push his pants out of the way of his cock. If Aya was going to fuck him for a change, he'd need to be a little more naked than he currently was.

The redhead wrapped one hand around his cock, - Yohji licked his lips at the sight - lifting it to slide slickened fingers between his legs. They moaned in unison as one slick digit pressed its way inside.

Yohji didn't think he'd ever seen anything as hot as Aya preparing himself, cheeks flushed and eyes half closed as two fingers now moved inside him, stretching the tight little opening to accept more. He made small, delicious sounds of pleasure and need as they moved, his other hand lightly stroking the rosy length of his cock. This was the reason he put up with all the shit that came with Aya: the Aya that the swordsman wouldn't let anybody but Yohji see, someone who felt, and wanted, and needed just like anybody else. Someone who, beneath the usually icy mask, had his own vulnerabilities.

Someone he only caught glimpses of outside the bedroom, but it was enough to make him want more.

He felt something ease inside him, and suddenly he was grateful that Aya hadn't simply taken him at his word and left earlier.

Two fingers became three, and then Aya was using those same fingers to slick lube over Yohji's cock. He moved back, settling the tip of Yohji's cock against his opening then sinking slowly down.

"Aya-" Yohji choked out as tight, slick heat took him in.

A brief look of discomfort flickered over the redhead's face, and he wriggled slightly. Yohji whimpered, but the new position seemed to satisfy Aya. He lifted himself up, and sank down again.

A slow pace seemed enough at first but before long, Aya was slamming back down on him, riding him with a wild abandon that had them both making inarticulate sounds of pleasure. Aya continued to stroke his own cock, his grip firmer now, moving with a desperate urgency. He was the one who came first, warm semen splattering over Yohji's stomach and chest, some even splashing as far up as his chin. The way his inner muscles tightened around him was enough to send Yohji following with a harsh cry, hips arcing up to slam inside him one more time.

When Yohji was able to think clearly again, Aya was slumped forward over him, having caught himself just before he landed in the cooling puddle of come on his chest. They were both still breathing hard and fast, and Yohji's breath caught as a tongue slipped out to lick at some of the semen that had made it as far as his chin. Aya leaned forward a little more, and their mouths met in a leisurely kiss. Yohji gave a little hum of pleasure, able to taste himself on his lover's lips.

It might be almost over, but his day was starting to look -

He grunted as Aya sat up, and looked around, reminding him his cock was still inside the other man. But before he could explore the possibilities of this, Aya had lifted himself off, swinging a leg over so that he could leave the bed entirely. The redhead made a beeline for a towel Yohji had left on the dresser after his shower that morning, and wiped at the fluids leaking from his entrance. Almost as an afterthought, he padded over long enough to hand Yohji the towel so he could wipe himself off, then scooped up his pants and tugged them on.

Yohji stared as Aya left the room, the sound of the door latch catching incredibly loud in the silence of the room.

Well, _fuck_.

Yohji stared at the door in a mixture of incredulity and anger. It was true that their relationship wasn’t exactly the kind of romance people wrote novels about, Yohji thought with a snarl, but just fucking him and leaving without a word was – He tugged his wrists free from the tie and sighed, shoulders slumping. What was the point, anyway? This was Aya, and it was quite possible the swordsman didn’t see anything wrong with his actions. Or simply didn’t care.

That last thought sent Yohji straight back into the black mood he’d been in when he arrived home. He scooped up the towel and swiped it across his stomach, somewhat haphazardly. He really needed a shower. He smelled of sweat, alcohol and sex. The sex had succeeded in distracting him, but now it was over and he felt . . . cheap. Fucking wonderful. Just how pathetic was he? he wondered as he tossed the towel aside. Next he’d be staring longingly at his insensitive prick of a lover while they worked, and composing sonnets to his eyes or something.

He snorted and poured himself another drink, knocking it back with considerable haste. If he wanted to get drunk enough to not give a damn about anything, he’d need to work harder at it.

As he was lowering the glass, his eye caught on something.

Aya’s katana was still leaning against the wall, where he had left it.

Aya’s katana, which he was possessive and protective of, and would never casually forget _anywhere_. And he’d just left it, in Yohji’s room, without so much as a second glance in its direction as he left.

What was that supposed to mean?

“Kudoh, when are you gonna realise you’ll never figure him out?” Yohji sighed, and poured himself another drink. Then he leaned back against the pillows to wait, because surely Aya would be coming back for his sword.

A minute or so later, the door reopened. Aya re-entered, holding a glass in one hand. Yohji watched as the redhead settled himself in a cross-legged position on the other end of the bed and held the glass out.

Yohji poured a generous amount of whiskey into it.

Aya swirled it around, looking at it consideringly. “So.” He took a mouthful and swallowed, then blinked. “You actually like this stuff?”

“It’s cheap, and has a high alcohol content. I didn’t buy it for its taste.”

“Hn.” The swordsman took another mouthful, and then, for the first time since he’d returned, looked directly at Yohji. “What _were_ you doing today?”

“I went to a funeral.”

Aya didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“You remember a mission, couple of months back, where a hospital administrator was kidnapping and selling newborns for black-market adoptions?”

“Of course. There were complications.”

It had been a nasty case, even thought for the most part, the administrator and his cohorts had avoided outright murder. The doctor and his nursing staff would create ‘complications’ during the labour which required the mother be given drugs. Then, afterwards, they would tell her the child was stillborn, and her memories of the labour were not clear enough to argue. As a particularly gruesome touch, they kept the body of a stillborn infant in the hospital morgue, in case the parents insisted on seeing their baby.

“Yuriko Tamagawa. She refused to believe the dead baby was hers, and they were going to kill her.” They’d been about to do so when Weiss arrived on the scene. Yohji could remember it even now, the poor woman still wearing one of those awful hospital gowns with no back to it, spitting defiance at her captors. One of the ‘nurses’ had been preparing to shoot, when the doctor stopped her. A bullet, after all, was hard to make look like an accident. He’d backhanded her instead, the blow knocking her unconscious. He’d told the nurse to return her to her hospital room, and make it look like she’d committed suicide in despair over her loss. “But we killed them, and even got her baby back.”

He’d felt so good about that mission, like they’d really accomplished something other than just killing for a change. Something worthwhile.

“Hn.” Aya drank the last of his whiskey, and held the glass out for a refill. “So who was the funeral for?”

“Yuriko Tamagawa.”

Yohji filled Aya’s glass then his own, throwing it back in one go and refilling it again. “Turns out that less than a month ago, she was in a car accident. A drunk driver. She survived, but he hit the passenger side, and her baby was killed.” It had been easy to get the information from family and friends attending the funeral, all of whom were still somewhat shocked by events. He’d been an investigator once upon a time, and he’d always been extremely skilled at convincing people to talk to him.

“How did she die, then?”

“Suicide.”

“Oh.” Aya looked at him, and took another sip. “You’re angry.” Head tilted to one side, he seemed to be thinking about this.

“Damn right, I‘m angry!” Yohji burst out. “We saved the girl, saved the kid, and then this happens? How fucked up is that?”

Aya looked at him steadily. “We’re killers, Yohji. We’re not here to save people. You shouldn’t expect we can. We kill whatever target Persia and Kritiker set in front of us, and move on. The fact that Yuriko Tamagawa and her baby survived was nothing more than a happy accident. We can’t even save ourselves.”

“You really believe that? That what we do makes no difference?” Yohji could feel his voice rising along with his temper, and tried to keep it from becoming a shout. Aya was not someone he wanted to argue with. Not seriously.

“I believe it changes who is out there, committing their crimes, but no, not much else.”

“Then why the hell are you here?” Yohji lost the battle to keep from yelling. How could Aya so cavalierly dismiss what they did? They were out there, killing people, and there had to be a reason for it, a purpose to it all. It had to make a difference, or they were no different from the ‘Dark Beasts’ they hunted. “If what we’re doing has so little effect, why bother? Or are you so fucked up you no longer need a reason?”

Even as he said it, he wondered if he’d gone too far. That last remark was personal, an attack on Aya and his sometimes questionable grip on sanity. And as Aya’s eyes narrowed, glaring at him with a touch of that icy rage he’d seen the few times the redheaded swordsman truly lost it, Yohji wondered if this time, whatever understanding they had between them would be enough to keep him in one piece.

“Oh, I have my reason, and it’s a damned good one,” Aya hissed. “Revenge. And I have no need to dress it up in pretty ideals to justify it to myself, or anyone else.”

“That’s it? Revenge?” Yohji repeated. Yeah, he knew they were all here for personal reasons, but he was surprised to find Aya’s was so... simple. It was no secret he went a little nuts anytime the name Takatori was mentioned, but –

It wasn’t so different from what had bought him here. He’d wanted to bring down Liott, after all. They were responsible for Asuka’s death, and they had to be stopped. But he did still have ideals. A little tarnished, and buried under a pile of vices, they were still there, and Yohji was a little surprised to realise he hadn’t let go of all of them.

_Do I dress it up to justify it to myself?_ he wondered.

“Yes. One day I will kill Reiji Takatori. I look forward to watching him die, knowing that he didn’t get away with what he did, that someone made him pay.”

“And what about all the people you’ve killed in the meantime?”

Aya shrugged. “Kritiker promised to help me get to Takatori. I can’t reach him yet, but I will. I follow their orders, I get something in return. And I’m already a killer, Yohji. How much difference does it really make?”

“Not much, I guess,” Yohji said. And here he thought he’d been depressed _before_. He’d never exactly got the impression that Aya liked himself much, but did he really think like this all the time? “And you’re -” not happy, this was _Aya_ \- “satisfied with that?”

“It’s enough. I don’t fool myself though. Killing him won’t save anybody. It won’t bring anything back.” He looked down at the remaining inch of amber liquid in his glass. Yohji only just caught the words he murmured under his breath. “Not even me.”

Yohji didn’t know what to say to that. It was clear it hadn’t really been meant for his ears, and if Aya was... comfortable with the way things were, then he certainly had no right to judge.

“So, getting back to our original subject.” Aya looked up, met Yohji’s eyes, and took a small sip of whiskey. The topic of his motivations, that look said quite clearly, was now closed. “Do you want to kill the driver, then?”

Yohji blinked, thrown by Aya’s question. “He’s hardly the kind of target we take on.” A part of him wanted to say _yes, let’s do it,_ while a saner, slightly more sober portion of his brain knew that an idiot who got behind the wheel while drunk wasn’t some crazed serial killer, deranged scientist, or dangerous sexual predator. Thoughtless, perhaps. Hell, once or twice he’d been stupid enough to do it, a thought that made him shudder now. “Kritiker wouldn’t -”

“True, it’s not the kind of thing Kritiker would involve themselves in. And they likely wouldn’t approve if we went after him ourselves. But if you really want to...” The prospect didn’t appear to bother Aya any, but Yohji wasn’t comfortable with the thought of going after someone, killing them, simply because he wanted to. It was a line he hadn’t crossed yet, although some might consider it a very fine distinction.

“No.” He said it firmly, to assure both himself and Aya that he meant it. He was determined to end that line of conversation before he let himself be talked into it. “He’s not our kind of criminal, Aya. Yes, he killed someone, but it’s not like -” Yohji stumbled to a stop, unable to say just why he saw such a difference between a drunk driver and their usual prey. It should be easy enough that even Aya could spot it, and if he couldn’t, Yohji wasn’t sure he could explain it. Maybe Aya thought of himself as just another murderer, but Yohji didn’t. He didn’t think of Aya that way either, and he wouldn’t be the one to push him across that line, even if the redhead didn’t believe it was really there.

“Hn.” There was a moment of silence. “So you’re angry at her, then.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s dead, she killed herself. You’re supposed to feel, I don’t know, _sorry_ for her. Not get angry.”

Aya snorted. “This funeral. There were a lot of people there?”

“Yeah. Her family, friends, people she used to work with – she was really well-liked. And her husband was heart-broken – they had to take him away halfway through the service.”

“She was selfish, inconsiderate and cowardly. I see plenty of reason to be angry at her.”

Yohji blinked. “She’d lost her child, Aya!”

“But she still had people who cared for her. Friends willing to support her. A husband who loved her, and they might have had another child. She was selfish.” The firm tone in which he spoke made it clear that Yohji wasn’t going to change his mind on this. “I don’t expect everyone to make our choices – it’d be strange if they did – but one loss and she just gives up?” He snorted again, and tossed back another shot of whiskey. “Selfish.”

“Hn.” Yohji looked down at his own glass. He’d lost Asuka, and she was the only person he was really close to, as his own family were long gone. He’d pieced together enough about Aya to know Takatori had killed his family, everyone Ken knew had turned on him after the scandal, and Omi’s family hadn’t cared enough to try and ransom him back. They’d each reached the point where they had nothing and nobody to care, and rather than giving up, they’d chosen to fight.

_“I don’t expect everyone to make our choices,”_ Aya had said. Maybe... Maybe Aya was right. He was angry at her. They’d done their best, given her another chance with her family, and she’d wasted it. Maybe things hadn’t been perfect, but Yohji couldn’t think of any time in his life when that was the case. She’d still had so much more than any of them could claim, and this was what she did with it?

“I guess she made her own choices,” Yohji said quietly, swirling the amber liquid about and wondering if he really wanted to drink it after all. It was quite awful, and the alcohol content wasn’t proving to be as beneficial as he’d thought.

“Yes.” Something about the way the word was spoken sounded... odd.

He looked up to see Aya blinking at him, a little myopically. A smile tugged at his lips. Clearly Aya wasn’t used to drinking vast quantities of whiskey, good, bad or otherwise.

A glance at the nightstand showed there was barely enough liquid in the bottle to cover the bottom. When had that happened? But it probably explained why Aya looked like he was struggling to focus on anything. It might even explain why he’d become so talkative. He watched as Aya tried to figure out what to do with his once-again empty glass, eyes moving from the nightstand, to the dresser, and even the surface of the bed. A slightly drunken Aya was, he decided, cute.

And thank God he hadn’t had enough to drink to say that thought out loud.

Yohji leaned forward, plucking the empty glass from loose fingers. He placed it beside the bottle, and turned back to the redhead, who was staring at him as if the simple action was something completely unexpected.

Yohji felt his breath catch. There was no anger in those eyes, no intent focus, nor was the face an impassive mask. Aya looked, for just a moment, every bit as young as he really was. And even as he watched, the expression settled into more familiar lines, the guard coming back up.

Maybe it was just the alcohol that had Aya’s mask slipping. Maybe it was the reason he’d even been willing to say so much, revealing things he’d never allowed to show before. But he’d been perfectly sober when he first returned to the room, with the apparent intention of letting Yohji get whatever it was off his chest. Even if he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about it.

This time, Yohji’s smile was wide and wholehearted. Leaning forward, he caught Aya’s chin in one hand, and claimed his lips in a slow, languid kiss.

Aya might not have changed much because of their relationship – he might not even consider it a relationship – but he had changed. Just a little. And coming from him, so stubborn and independent and unwilling to rely on anybody else, it seemed like a huge concession.

Yohji did still have ideals, and dreams of saving people, of making a difference, and maybe they were the wilful self delusions Aya’s bleak worldview claimed. Perhaps they couldn’t save anyone, even themselves. But as he pulled the other man close, tugging him down until they tangled together once more atop the rumpled covers, he knew he was still going to try.

Starting with a certain stubborn redhead.

 

 


End file.
